Broken for You
by N. Kitty
Summary: What is broken is broken and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I looked in the mirror this morning and was insanely shocked to find out I'm not Dick Wolfe. Go figure.

Rating is for angst, smutty smut, more angst, and the occasional (or not so occasional) naughty word that cops actually use and that I am so fond of writing.

**Reviews:** Please. I love each and every one!

**A/N:** This is a little deviation away from my big fic, Bullets & Fairytales, which, time willing, I will eventually finish. I just woke up this morning, feeling a bit depressed, and tossing E/O into some icky angst bettered my mood. That probably makes me some sort of deviant, but there you have it. So no fluff in this one – at _all_ (consider this a warning). This will be short (four chapters).

**Chapter One**

_"I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived."  
-Margaret Mitchell_

Olivia knew he would be alone in the squad at this time of night. Hours ago, even her former captain would have called it a day, probably even politely nudged the younger man to leave as well, maybe even tempting him with a couple of beers at a local cop bar. But Cragen wasn't really the most enjoyable drinking buddy; as it was with most recovered alcoholics, there was something particularly unnerving to drink in front of someone you knew had a serious problem with it.

That aside, it would have been his drive that kept him at his desk past midnight. Wrapped up in a case like this, even Cragen couldn't push the detective away from the job. There was no such thing as end of shift; he would work until exhausted, or until justice was served for the latest victim.

As Munch had mentioned in their weekly phone call last night, Elliot's current case was more disturbing that normal, if normalcy could even be applied within the perimeters of the SVU squad's case load. He hadn't divulged too much of the details; both were seasoned detectives, veterans in the most heinous of the criminal mind so a specific description wasn't necessary. That, and the tone of Munch's voice gave it away. He was worried about Elliot. And when Munch showed overt emotion on a topic outside the realm of politics, science, and 19th century Russian literature, Olivia took it seriously.

It had been two months since she had left a message on his cell phone, five months since she had actually seen her old partner. It had been her decision to leave; at the time, it had seemed like the only option. His actions pushed her forward; he had sacrificed time in saving the life of an innocent for her. He didn't just care for her; he had put her above the victim. And that was unacceptable in this job. It was unacceptable as partners.

But she had never meant to push him away. Olivia had realized too late what she had done. In her haste to save Elliot and the job, she had somehow lost the closest thing to love she had ever known. Her best friend, the one person she trusted with her life, now couldn't even stand to talk to her on the phone.

Olivia paused at the open doorway of the dark squad room, suddenly aware of her heart beating painfully against her ribs. Elliot was sitting at his desk, forehead resting on his left fist as he scrawled something on a legal pad illuminated by the only lamp lit in the entire, vast room.

"Elliot?" Her voice came out soft and hesitant, lacking the usual assertiveness she had shown around her former partner.

He looked up slowly, his hand coming down on the desk as his gaze took her in. His ice blue eyes were glittering in the light, his mouth drawn out in an expression he usually reserved for their perps. Olivia nearly flinched. Elliot had never stared at her that way, as if he hated her.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He asked roughly. She started to walk into the dark squad room, and then hesitated.

"El, I was worried…"

He snorted, forcing out a dark, humorless laugh. "Worried? You don't get to be worried anymore, Olivia. Not about me, not about the squad."

Suddenly angry, she strode over to desk that used to be hers, the one so intimately joined with Elliot's for the past decade. He jerked to his feet, nearly causing his chair to topple backwards with the harsh movement.

"Just because I left…"

"That's why! You _left_. You fucking left!" He was practically yelling now, staring down at her in the half-light, the strength of emotion alive on his face.

"That doesn't mean I don't care, El. I never stopped caring," Olivia countered, her voice softening, her fingers curling on the back of her old chair. She stood still in front of the harsh force of her former partner. He could scare the strongest, vilest of men into submission in the interrogation room, but she wouldn't let him push her down.

"You _showed_ me exactly how much you care, Liv," Elliot replied, his tone lower, but still seething. "What? Did you come here to show me _again_ how much you fucking _care_? To tell me you're now moving out of the state? Is that how much you really _care_, Benson?"

She swallowed, moistening her lower lip. "Just because we are no longer partners doesn't mean we can't be friends."

He grunted, a short, disbelieving sound as he shook his head. "Goddamn you."

"Elliot…"

"Just…go away," he sighed, his face relaxing in an odd show of defeat as he sat back down and picked up his pen. She watched as he started writing again, all of his attention on the legal pad in front of him as he pointedly ignored her.

Olivia stood there silently for over a minute, waiting for him to speak, unsure of what to say or even what to think. She wished for anything for their old banter, the easy flow of just _being_ that came so naturally to them. It seemed forever lost, forever broken.

"Elliot."

He looked up. This time the expression he held was one of weariness, the face of a man who had been through hell his entire life and just craved peace. Elliot, in that moment, looked all of his 45 years.

"Please, Liv. I can't do this with you. I can't argue anymore."

"Why do we have to argue?" Olivia walked cautiously around the desks, coming to Elliot's side. In an instinctive move to be on the same level, he stood again, facing her.

"Because that's all we have left. That is all that remains," Elliot answered, his voice devoid of feeling. Despair pierced her heart at the comment, and the raw emotion caused unshed tears to glisten in her dark eyes.

"It doesn't have to be like this, El." She whispered, reaching out to touch him. He flinched, but didn't pull away as her hand rested against his chest.

"You chose this. The day you threw away our partnership," he replied, his blue gaze flittering across her face. "You gave up on it. You gave up on me."

A tear slid down her cheek even after her vain attempt not to cry. His eyes caught the movement, and then his thumb. Elliot leaned into her, his mouth gentle as he kissed the remnants of the warm saltiness on her cheek.

"I would never give up on you, El. My God, how can you say that?" She asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Because," he spoke quietly, his mouth caressing her check in small kisses, "I would give you everything, Liv, _everything_, and it still wasn't enough."

She was nearly dizzy with emotion. Elliot was fueling the long suppressed desire with his small movements at the same time utter despair and loss was twisting her stomach into painful knots.

"You are all I ever needed, El," she pleaded, her fingers bunching up the cotton of his dress shirt over his chest. "All I ever needed was you…"

His mouth was hot when it met hers. Too many years had passed between them for the innocence of a first kiss; open mouths, they explored each other with sensuous abandon. Her fingers pulled at his silk tie as he grazed at the waistband of her pants.

"I want you," Elliot growled low against her ear, causing a stab of lust in her belly. "Right here, Liv, right now."

She moaned her response, rotating her hips against his, pressing against his erection. He groaned, his hands dropping to her hips to repeat the movement. One hand slid against her right thigh and he pulled her leg high around his waist, shifting so he was suddenly, rather intimately pressing against her center.

The rush of desire nearly caused her to black out, painful in its intensity.

"Please, oh, God," Olivia gasped, arching against him, "need you. Need you inside of me, El."

That was all it took. His mouth was crushing against hers again as they fumbled out of clothes and gun holsters. In the midst of their frantic disrobing, Olivia heard the crash of folders and pens as Elliot swiped clean part of his desktop, pausing only to cover the bare wood surface with his trench coat.

Their coupling was frenzied, both burning with nearly a decade of emotion culminated in this single act. He was between her trembling thighs on the desktop, and then inside her, both sweating with the rhythm.

His tongue was in her mouth, matching the movement below. She was so close, so close when she felt him touch her there and her climax broke. Olivia was sobbing with the release when she felt him arch against her and cry out her name.

Elliot leaned forward, catching most of his weight on his elbows, still inside of her. He was gasping, shaking with reaction. Olivia's fingertips grazed down his damp back, comforting him.

His blue eyes caught her gaze, the color darker than she had ever seen them. There was the relaxed expression of release combined with something deeper, something infinitely more important and dangerous.

Elliot's thumb brushed gently against her parted lips while he stared down at her. "Do you understand now, Liv?"

She blinked. "Understand?" Her heart constricted painfully at the look of sadness that battled with tenderness on his face.

"Understand why we can't do this. Why what we had is gone." His voice lowered. "Why I can't see you again."

Her eyebrows drew together slightly as she looked up at him, the pain clear in her eyes.

"Olivia, you broke my heart. Tore me to pieces. I loved you," he spoke quietly, his fingertips caressing her cheek as she stared at him, wide eyed with faint shock. The blue of his eyes was suddenly wet, and Olivia felt a surreal ness at the raw hurt that would bring him to tears.

"God help me, Liv, I still do," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Without another word, he pushed up from the desk, standing. She sat up, watching silently, still shocked and too affected to think of anything to say. Elliot was pulling on his pants, pointedly ignoring her as he dressed.

She was still sitting half-nude on his desk when he turned to look at her. Olivia was shaking, biting her lip and staring. He hesitated for only a moment before he stood in front of her again. Elliot reached out a hand, cupping the back of her head as he leaned down, resting his forehead to hers.

Eyes open but unseeing, she felt his tears. Olivia was lost, more lost than she had ever felt. Elliot loved her, but never wanted to see her again. Somehow, in all of this, she had broken his heart.

He pulled back, staring down at her with red-rimmed eyes, lips pinched as he fought the urge to break down completely in front of her.

She looked up at him, trying to grasp onto reality even as it drifted further away from her. "Elliot?" Her voice was barely audible and she moistened her lips, trying his name again.

He shook his head, running an angry hand through his hair as he continued to fight the battle with his emotions. They stared at each other in silence for several minutes before he moved towards her again, this time to kiss her gently on the mouth. When he pulled back, there was a sad longing in his blue eyes she knew she would never forget.

"You'll haunt me the rest of my life, Liv," he whispered. "The pain of seeing you again…I can't deal with it. There's nothing left of me to break."

With a sense of finality, he turned away from her, walking around the desks and out of her field of view. Olivia listened as his foot falls faded into the dark, waiting for cold silence before she broke down. She sobbed openly, the pain too much to bear, too much for her to comprehend.

Elliot Stabler had just walked out of her life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I looked in the mirror this morning and was insanely shocked to find out I'm not Dick Wolfe. Go figure.

Rating is for angst, smutty smut, more angst, and the occasional (or not so occasional) naughty word that cops actually use and that I am so fond of writing.

**Reviews:** Please. Have I mentioned I love them?

**A/N:** All warnings from the first chapter stay in this one, but for emphasis, I will repeat _this is not a fluffy story_ (well, except for Munch at times). Unfortunately, my current mood has made my playtime with E/O emotionally pained. Deepest apologies.

**  
Chapter Two**

"_Love is for unlucky folk,  
Love is but a curse.  
Once there was a heart I broke;  
And that, I think, is worse."_  
_- Dorothy Parker  
_

Two weeks passed before she knew, three weeks and a doctor's visit confirmed her assumption. It was odd that her first reaction hadn't been panic; as a single, sexually active woman, it had always been a fear, an unwanted possibility in the back of her mind. Of course, she had her fair share of scares before, but they had all been unfounded, undoubtedly assisted by her religious use of condoms. But neither of them had given thought to anything in that moment other then the act itself. So this time, this time was real.

Driving back to her apartment from the doctor's, her mind shifted between bouts of intense thought to heavenly emptiness. Part of her, the Detective Benson persona, chose to step back from the situation and access it with assertive practicality. While having a child was never in her life-plans, she couldn't fathom an abortion, even though it was a choice she wouldn't deny others, especially considering her years with SVU. Her body was healthy, but she was nearly forty, and this would possibly be the only chance she would have at motherhood.

She was single, but earned a decent income, enough for her and a child. And she did have a sizable savings, a lesson learned early on. Though she didn't consider herself exceptionally maternal, Olivia reckoned it was something she could learn. At least there was little doubt in her mind that she could do a better job than her own mother, who in all honesty, and alcoholism aside, Olivia still loved very much.

The thought that Serena hadn't lived long enough to see her grandchild sent a shudder through Olivia. That thought wasn't practical, and the emotional woman suddenly overtook the professional detective.

There was a baby growing inside her, a life created in blissful despair on a desk in the SVU squad room at the 16th precinct. A child whose father confessed his love for her, only to break her heart by telling her he never wanted to see her again.

_"You'll haunt me the rest of my life, Liv, The pain of seeing you again…I can't deal with it. There's nothing left of me to break."_

The memory of his words stung her, and she realized absently that she was crying again. Perhaps it was the hormones, but she was too strong to deceive herself. She was hurting, more so than she had in all of her years. At times, her whole body ached, the pain of realizing heaven, only to have it ripped away, broken forever was almost too much to take.

Of course, there was the thought of what Elliot would do when he found out. She had no doubt that he would be back in her life. For if nothing else, she knew her former partner's morals, his inherent responsibility with respect to his children, fueled further by his faith. This child would be no different. If he found out, they would be forced together again, in another intimate partnership where he would have to see her, have to relive that pain he so shockingly revealed to her that night.

_If he found out._

The thought had her biting her lower lip as she carefully parallel parked the car. Olivia turned the engine off, sitting for a moment in silence. It would be wonderful to have Elliot in her life again; there could be a chance that they could talk about what had happened, when exactly he fell in love with her and how she could fix that which she had unintentionally broken. But the memory of such raw pain in his blue eyes, the tears on his face…

_"There's nothing left of me to break."_

She closed her eyes, her breath coming out in a shuttered sigh. She couldn't do this. She owed him that much. It would be easier to give in, to plead with him, to reveal the depth of her love. But he had made it clear; he believed she had given up on him, that he wasn't what she needed. If for that one decision, her one damn choice that had put the job above him, he might believe her words. But that one decision seemed to prove to him that he wasn't what she needed, and her appearance alone caused him pain.

She had broken him. She wouldn't do it again.

Olivia shifted out of the car, locking it before she turned to walk on the sidewalk towards her building. She had just made it through the front door of her apartment before her cell started ringing.

She pulled it from her pants pocket, flipping it open as she closed the door behind her. "Benson."

"Olivia, where were you?"

She chuckled at the tone in the familiar voice. "Munch. I'm sorry I didn't call, but I'm sure you and Fin both appreciated winning a game this time."

She heard Munch snort. "It's not the pool that counts, Liv, it's the company. Fin can be an ass when it's just the two of us. And who else knows about Dostoevskii? Last time I mentioned the Brothers Karamazov to him, he nearly killed me with the eight ball."

Olivia laughed at the visual. "Stop exaggerating, John. And not that many people appreciate 19th century Russian literature quite like you."

"You do."

"You know the only reason I'm familiar with Dostoevskii and Pushkin is because I dated that Russian scholar for a couple of months back in '03. Otherwise I'd probably have Fin's back at your pool playing massacre." Olivia smiled, hearing his short half laugh, half grunt through the receiver.

"So how about next Wednesday? Or are you standing us up again?"

Olivia's smile faded. She slowed her languid pacing by the edge of the couch, her free hand brushing absently against the beige fabric.

"Olivia?"

"I, uh, I'm actually going to be out of town for awhile. I have some vacation time accrued and we're at a slow period, so cap says to take it." The lie came out smoothly.

"Damn, must be nice. Decided where you're going yet?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, thinking quickly how much she should tell him at the same time planning exactly what she was doing. "Not yet. But I'll send you a post card."

He snorted again. "If I get something from the Bahamas, I'm never speaking to you again."

The comment usually would have made her laugh, but with the sudden, volatile change in her life, it stung. She sighed.

"Liv?"

"Not the Bahamas, John."

"It's not that. Are you all right?"

Though never as close as Elliot had been, Munch could nearly be scary with how perceptive he was with her emotions at times.

"Fine. Just a long day. Why?"

"It's Stabler. I was wondering if maybe you and he had some sort of confrontation recently."

Her grip tightened on the phone. "What's wrong with Elliot?"

Munch grunted. "He's been hell to work with lately. Sharp, cold, storming in and out of the squad like someone just ran over his dog and he's going to execute the poor son of a bitch when he finds him. Hell, he almost beat up a perp in the room the other day; if Novak and I weren't there, I'm sure he would have pummeled the guy. Stabler even yelled at Cragen yesterday."

Olivia was staring out the living room windows, unseeing, her mind racing with this information. "He isn't being…careless, is he, John?"

There was a pause, and then it was Munch's turn to sigh. "I haven't seen him do anything stupid, but we haven't worked any cases together recently. I'd ask his partner, but I think she's a week away from transferring out of the department. Besides the vileness of our caseload, the fact that her partner has been acting like a bigger prick than Kim Jong-il probably has helped us lose another good detective."

Olivia was quiet. Elliot was usually the cool one, the detective that kept his head even when most would break under the pressures of the SVU casework. And though it didn't sound like he was jumping in front of bullets or taking unnecessary risks, he was taking his anger at her out on the job. The fact that he was still doing this after three weeks concerned her, but she knew it eventually would die down. It had to.

"John, I know he must be difficult to be around right now, but would you," she paused, moistening her lower lip, "would you mind looking after him? Not baby sit him, but just make sure he's not hurting himself?"

"Anything for you, Liv," he answered her with a chuckle. It was quiet for a moment, and his voice was lower when he spoke again. "Maybe you should talk to him."

Olivia laughed, a small, humorless sound. Even though Munch had no idea of what had happened three weeks ago, he was still quite aware of Elliot's animosity towards her since she had left SVU. "The current mood you describe him in, he'd likely kill me."

"Never you, Liv. Love and hate are two different sides of the same coin."

There was more silence between them, Munch's words bringing back the memory of Elliot, his face so close to hers, such pain in his shining blue eyes. _"I loved you. God help me, I still do."_

"Why don't you come back?"

His voice cut through her thoughts. "John?"

"To SVU. Your current squad sounds as exciting as bingo night at the Riverside Senior Center. And you know Cragen would take you back in a heartbeat. And whom else can work with the wraith formerly know as Stabler? Damn, Fin and I would let you win at pool for the next ten games."

Olivia laughed. "_Let_ me win?"

"Fine, if not that, we can buy the next couple rounds of beer. How about it?"

"I…I'm not coming back. Too many things have changed. I've…changed."

All of the humor was gone from his voice when he spoke next. "If you ever want to talk, Liv…"

"I know. Thank you," she answered quietly. She looked around her, her apartment slowly coming into focus again. "Listen, I have to pack…"

"Don't remind me. I haven't had a decent vacation since Regan was in office." He sighed. "Don't forget that postcard."

She laughed. "Of course." Olivia paused for a moment, her own sentiment trumping any stealth she had at this moment. "I'll miss you, John."

There was uncomfortable silence on the other end. "You're coming back…right?"

"Yes," she spoke softly.

"If you don't, it will break Stabler's heart."

"_There's nothing left of me to break."_ His words, his words always came back to her. She had already broken him.

Olivia bit her lower lip. "I have to go. Please say my goodbyes to everyone."

"I will, Liv. I don't think you know how much you'll be missed."

It was on that note they ended the phone conversation. Olivia realized that she might have given herself away, that Munch was an excellent detective for a reason and she hadn't exactly been prepared with her plans prior to the call. She would just have to trust him not to share any speculation he had with Elliot. The thought made her smile briefly, knowing that her name was taboo around him anyway. Munch probably wouldn't be able to get much out after her name before Elliot would hit him.

Olivia sighed, glancing around her small Manhattan apartment, taking account of all of her material possessions. The plan that was forming in her head was terrifying, but at the same time, she accepted it as necessary, pushing emotion back in favor of practicality. Once again the detective persona was in charge.

She walked over to the large, mahogany bookshelf in her living room, pulling out her old address book from the third shelf. She flipped through the yellowed pages until she made it to the B's, and then specifically, to Benson. There was only one name remaining that wasn't scratched out. Sylvia Benson, phone and address in Portland, Oregon.

Fingertips paused on the page, Olivia let herself think back of all the memories she had of Portland. Decent sized, nowhere near NYC, but still large. The climates were similar. Safer in a lot of ways to that of her dear City. Probably a nice place to raise a child.

Olivia was dialing the number before she really had a thought of what to say to the older woman, her only known remaining relative. A cousin of her mother's, Olivia hadn't even seen her since the funeral.

"Hello?"

"Sylvia? It's Olivia. Olivia Benson."

There was a pause, and then a delighted gasp. "Livy! Oh, darling, it's been ages. Why, Serena's funeral, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Such a tragedy, that. Your mother was too young." There was another pause. "How are you doing, Livy? Still working for the police department?"

"Yes." Olivia sighed. "It's a long story, Sylvia."

"I have time, darling."

"We might be able to talk in person. I'm flying to Portland in a couple of days and I wanted to ask if I could see you while I'm there, maybe catch up on old times, and maybe you could show me around the city."

Another happy exclamation came from the older woman. "That sounds lovely, dear! Portland is gorgeous this time of year. You haven't booked a hotel, have you? Don't. Since Roger passed away three years ago, this big house is just screaming for company."

"I don't want to trouble you…"

"No trouble at all, Livy."

Olivia settled into the couch as she continued the easy flow of conversation with the Sylvia, feeling more in charge of herself and the situation since that pivotal night three weeks ago.

_"The pain of seeing you again…I can't deal with it. There's nothing left of me to break."_

She had broken him. She wouldn't do it again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I looked in the mirror this morning and was insanely shocked to find out I'm not Dick Wolfe. Go figure.

Rating is for angst, smutty smut, more angst, and the occasional (or not so occasional) naughty word that cops actually use and that I am so fond of writing. 

**Reviews:** Please. Have I mentioned I love them?

**A/N:** All warnings from the first chapter stay in this one, though I have relented a bit on my original, angst-ridden plans. There might be a bit of fluff in the next, final chapter. Oh, and wherever Munch is, humor does follow. 

**  
Chapter Three**

"_Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell."  
- Edna St. Vincent Millay_

Her house was relatively small, a quaint, well-maintained home that couldn't be larger than two bedrooms. It surprised him, knowing as he did now her income; surely she could have afforded something larger with her current job and salary. But then maybe some things hadn't changed at all. Olivia never was the flashy sort, and in a way, the house comforted him with the thought that maybe he would find the same woman, untouched by the years.

Munch walked up the concrete stairs lined on each side with various potted plants. He had never known that she had held any past interest in gardening, but perhaps the climate here in Portland made it easier to grow things than NYC. Having exchanged an apartment for a house obviously helped. Or maybe it was one of many things that had possibly changed. He would make it a point to ask her.

Steeling his nerves, Munch knocked on the door three times then settled back on his heels, hands in his trouser pockets. He heard a muffled voice, something like laughter, and then the sound of the locks working before the door opened in front of him.

Olivia Benson had definitely changed.

He took in her appearance with familiar detective expertise as she blinked at him in speechless surprise. Her usual short hair now fell in soft waves past her shoulders. Silver strands threaded through the dark brown by her temples, and he wondered faintly if she had always had some gray and chose now not to cover it up. Her face was relatively free from make-up, and there was a softness to her that he had never seen before. She still held that world-weariness that he imagined all of them would be burdened with even beyond the SVU, but there was indescribable warmth in her eyes, almost like love.

She was wearing a sundress, and outside of the current situation, he would have enjoyed the odd visual of her still slender body in a dress. And Stabler wasn't even here to stare daggers at him, or tell him to keep his eyes off his partner.

That thought took away any amusement he felt. Munch was here for a reason.

"John?" Olivia had finally found her voice, his name coming out scratchy from her suddenly dry throat. She was staring; for his part, he appeared exactly the same as when she had first met him nearly 15 years before at the 16th precinct. If Munch had ever appeared anything other than 60 years old, she had never seen it.

"I never got that postcard."

His words didn't make sense at first, until she remembered, in abrupt clarity, their last conversation nearly five years ago. The postcard she had promised to send him. _The one that was never sent._

A wry smile touched her soft mouth. "So you had to track me down?"

He smiled back. He was pleased to see that not only hadn't she slammed the door in his face, but that she was displaying a somewhat positive emotion. "It was important to me." He paused, his face losing its humor. "That's not the only reason I'm here."

They both looked at each other, a world of meaning exchanged in the glance. _Elliot._

She pulled open the door, standing to the side so he could walk past her. "Please come in, John."

He made it past the threshold, the sparse, but homey living room coming into view, and beyond that, a small nook that served as dining area. Munch froze in place, the visual nearly causing his heart to stop.

At the practical, oak dinette set, a small boy sat coloring with crayons. At the sound of Munch entering the house, the child had turned to look, curious to see the visitor.

The boy had shaggy brown hair and dark, nearly luminous brown eyes that mirrored those of his mother. But the shape of his eyes and the straight slope of his nose, though strikingly familiar, were not of his mother's parentage. The child stared back at Munch, one dark eyebrow arching as his little mouth drew out in a smirk. The action would have seemed out of place on a child, but it was so recognizable as a quirk of his father, that Munch felt himself shaking with the dawning realization.

Olivia saw the abject horror on Munch's face and cringed. She knew this day would come; as the years passed, it was always in the back of her mind that some day, some part of her past would resurface.

It had been nearly five years ago that she had left NYC and basically all that she knew and had in life. Olivia stayed with Sylvia Benson long enough to get used to Portland and the idea of starting over. The generous woman had even suggested Olivia live and raise her child in the spacious house with her, but Olivia knew this was something she would have to do on her own.

With her qualifications, it would have been easy enough for her to find work again as a detective. But there would always be an increased risk of death as a cop, and she was intimately aware that aside from Sylvia, she was the only one her son had in life. That, and of course, police work would only remind her day in and day out what she had left behind. For there would never be another partner, another man like Elliot Stabler.

But even though she was able to move past working as a cop, something she thought she would do the rest of her life, she still couldn't do a job unless somehow, someway, she was helping people. It was that basic need that brought her to the Portland's Volunteers of America's Woman's Residential Center. She had started work there as an abuse counselor, moving up through the years to her current position as the Assistant Director. Though she no longer carried a gun or worked for justice, she found fulfillment in assisting women picking up the pieces of their lives and moving on. As a detective, her sensitivity and empathy towards the victims had almost been a detriment at times; now it was benefit. She was there not to find the perpetrator, but to help heal the wounded.

While it had been easy to forget during the day, nights were hell. Elliot haunted her dreams; there had even been times when she had woken up her son in the middle of the night, crying out with her loss. She had taken sleeping pills for a while, before the guilt at the thought of something happening to her child while she was blissfully unaware made her stop.

Of course, she always thought about Elliot when she looked at their son. It hadn't been obvious when he was a baby, but the older he became, the more and more he looked like his father. Olivia could easily imagine him as a teenager, and then a young man; he was a brown-eyed version of Elliot. The day to day interaction, waking him up, feeding him, reading stories…she always felt an ache in her heart that accompanied the unequivocal love she felt for her son.

Olivia looked over at him now, feeling a sense of pride. Through it all, there was never a day she regretted having him. He was a beautiful, sensitive child, and with all that she had lost, he somehow helped her through it.

"Olivia?"

She looked back at Munch. His face was pale, and behind his tinted glasses, his dark eyes were wide. He was staring at her, his lips parted in something akin to faint shock.

"Why don't you come in and have a seat on the couch? I'll get us something to drink and then we can talk, okay?" She spoke softly, her tone gentle as she closed and locked the door behind them. He nodded silently, watching as she gave him a small smile before walking towards the kitchen. Olivia paused to kiss the top of the boy's head before she disappeared into the other room.

Munch stood still for a moment, feeling more shocked then he had since he found his third wife and his former best friend in bed together. And that had been over 20 years ago. He had thought that maybe Olivia Benson might have married, maybe would have given thought to having children someday, but this…

He wondered for a second if Elliot knew, but that couldn't be the case. If Elliot had known she was pregnant with his child, he never would have let her leave. No, Olivia had runaway without telling him. _But why?_ Why did she pick up everything with no intentions of coming back or letting Elliot know? Elliot must have hurt her in some way, or convinced her to leave. But why would he do that when it was so obvious that the man loved her more than the world?

Munch walked stiffly over to the couch, sitting down hesitantly on the comfortable, earthy green sofa. He glanced over to the child again, but he was busy furiously coloring in a large section of the book with a blue crayon, swinging his tiny legs back and forth in a lazy beat.

Olivia reappeared again with two glasses of water, ice cubes clinking against the sides. She handed him one with an apologetic smile before sitting down on the couch next to him.

"All I have in the house is juice and milk. Remembering you're lactose intolerant and not knowing your juice preference, I figured you wouldn't mind water."

He shook his head, taking a sip before setting the glass down on the sturdy oak coffee table in front of them. He was quiet, silently assessing her, his dark gaze skipping over her features before he looked at the child again.

"He looks just like his father," Munch spoke softly. Olivia tensed for a moment, before relaxing again. She pulled in her lower lip, moistening it, and then set her glass down next to Munch's.

Olivia turned to her son, holding out her hand. "Elliot? Come here, sweetheart. I want you to meet an old friend of mine."

Olivia felt Munch stiffen next to her, expecting the response to her son's name. Perhaps she did it as some sort of self-purgatory, but she couldn't think of any other name she would have wanted for her only son.

The child pushed forward in the chair before hopping down. He bounced more than walked over to them, touching Olivia's outstretched hand, pulling himself onto her lap. He was eyeing Munch again, curious.

"Are you Mr. Munch?"

Munch's eyebrows rose at the question, and he gave Olivia an incredulous look. She smiled in return.

"Yes he is, sweetheart," she laughed, brushing back his shaggy hair. "This is Mr. Munch."

"How did you…?"

"So is real? Mommy, is it aw real?" Elliot jumped down from his mother's lap, walking over to Munch. Munch was still staring at Olivia, confused.

"Only parts are real, remember?"

"Olivia…?"

She laughed again. "I tell Elliot bedtime stories. You just happen to be in some of them. I guess I described you so well that he has no doubts of your identity."

Munch glanced away from the wide-eyed child in front of him back to her. "You told him about the SVU squad?"

"My mommy was a cop," Elliot said with a grin. "And she tells stowies about magic cars, and magic cops. Dere's you and your pahter Mr. Fin and then dere's Mr. Crawfish…"

Munch nearly choked. "Does he mean Cragen?"

Olivia gave him a short look. "Elliot's not quite five, John. Cragen's name is difficult…"

"I'm four," Elliot interrupted, holding up the four fingers on his right hand for Munch. "And with Mommy dere is Mr. Stable."

Munch quirked his eyebrows up again at Olivia before turning back to the child. "Magic cops, huh?"

"Yes. And you fwight dragons and bad dings. Mommy says they're wreally, wreally _bad_. Some dings so bad she not even talks 'bout. But you save kids from the bad dings." Elliot looked towards the living room windows and then to Munch excitedly. "Did you take a magic car here?"

"'Fraid not, kid. Plain old taxi cab after a frightful flight in coach."

"You _fwy_?"

Munch laughed. "Only when I'm forced to. Or when I really need to see your mother."

Olivia's smile faded. _Elliot._ They needed to talk about why Munch had finally made an appearance in her life.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go play in your room for awhile? You can play with the Playdough as long as you keep it on your play table, okay?"

The little boy grinned, nodding his head. He turned to walk away, but paused, reaching up to hug Olivia. The small sign of affection tugged at her heart and she tightened the embrace, rocking him slightly. She gave him another small kiss on his forehead and then set him down. Both she and Munch watched as Elliot raced around the couch and disappeared down the hallway, singing some inane child song.

Olivia looked back at Munch, who unnervingly was staring at her again. She took another sip of water, fumbling a bit. It was awkward, and she felt a little out of sorts. After all, she had been the one who had runaway, and here she was, face to face with a significant part of her past. Not the biggest part, but still one that obviously she would have to answer to.

"So how did you find me?" Olivia asked quietly.

"I've been looking for you, on and off, pretty much since you left," Munch sighed, relaxing back into the couch. He took off his glasses, cleaning them with the edge of one of his un-tucked shirttails. "But you're a hard woman to find. I thought for sure you would still be working as a cop, probably in some urban area. So I started there, researching as much as I could. Do you know there is a patrol cop in Oklahoma City named Olivia Benson?"

She shook her head mutely, watching as he replaced his glasses and looked back over to her.

"I even tried gun permits; if not a cop, then I thought for sure you would at least still be licensed to carry. All of my leads kept on coming up dead." He smiled. "But then my penchant for giving to charity actually solidified my belief in karma."

"How so?"

Munch dug around inside his gray suit jacket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it, smoothing out the pages. "I donate to the Volunteers of America. Use to actually donate time, but for the past several years I can only afford to donate money. In response, they send out their quarterly request for more money and a news letter."

He handed the paper to her. "Usually I just scan them and then toss them in the recycling bin, but this one caught my eye. Second page, last picture on the right."

Olivia took the paper from him, recognizing the familiar text and letterhead of the organization in charge of the Portland's Woman's Residential Center. She flipped open the crumpled pages, coming to the photo he was referencing.

Olivia recognized herself instantly in the small black and white image. She was in profile for the camera, in the midst of one of the community luncheons the WRC held to raise money and awareness for the cause. Under the photo, her name was listed among others featured in the shot, identified as being in Portland, Oregon.

"I should have known you would end up doing something to help the victims. Not that I minded this slap in the face. It came at the right time."

Olivia looked up from the paper. "What has happened?"

Munch took a drink from his water glass, setting it down and pausing to access her again. "Olivia, why did you runaway?"

She felt the heat flood her face and looked away. "I had to."

"Stabler doesn't know. He would have stopped you, and if he couldn't stop you, he wouldn't have rested until he found you. So why? Why didn't you tell him? Why did you runaway?"

"I had to, John. Elliot doesn't want me," she spoke quietly. She might as well be honest. It was more than obvious now to Munch that her and Elliot had been more than partners. He may as well know the rest.

He snorted. "Who in the hell gave you that idea?"

She pushed up from the couch, crossing her arms and walking a few steps away from him. "He did. The one and only night we…he told me. He told me he never wanted to see me again."

Olivia turned around. The shock on Munch's face was quickly replaced with anger. "He told you what?"

"Do you want me to repeat it word for word?" She asked bitterly. "He told me I had broken him and if he had to ever see me again, it would kill him. I think he made it plain enough, don't you?"

Munch looked away, shaking his head. "For all that's holy…that blind, arrogant asshole," he trailed off. He rubbed his forehead, muttering some curse under his breath.

In a move that almost startled her, Munch had pushed off the couch and was standing in front of her quicker than she had thought possible at his age.

"Olivia, listen to me. Elliot's in love with you. Insanely, head over heels, Sound of Music singing, awe inspiring in love with you," he spoke steadily, holding her upper arms where she still had them crossed over her chest.

She would have laughed at him, but he had a serious, determined look in his dark eyes. She bit her lip, staring at him. "Munch…"

"When you left the squad, it nearly killed him. Oh, he didn't tell me, but he didn't have to; it was obvious that he thought you chose the job over him. He felt betrayed. When he said that to you, he most certainly was lashing out. The man is lovesick, Liv."

She blinked, and then looked away. His voice was softer the next time he spoke.

"Since you ran away, he's been a different man. He never smiles anymore. Other than seeing his children every weekend, the man has no social life. I doubt he's been with a woman since you. I thought that maybe he had started to drink, going home each night to the bottle. But Cragen's confirmed it's not that." Munch sighed.

"Instead, each night he goes home alone. And to what? To spend an evening with his gun? I'm sure he's entertained the thought of eating a bullet, but you know those Catholics. Suicide, hell, but I'm sure Stabler's close to the breaking point."

"_The pain of seeing you again…I can't deal with it. There's nothing left of me to break."_ His words, always his words would come back to her. Hadn't she left for him? Because she had already broken him?

She faced him again, the sting of tears in her eyes. "Is that why you came, John? Do you really think Elliot would kill himself?" She couldn't help the fear the bled into her voice, betraying her emotions.

He sighed again, his gaze following a tear as it slid down her cheek. "Since you left, Stabler has gone through six partners. Three years ago, a detective by the name of Richard Harper was assigned to the squad, Stabler's new partner. Like the others, it was a struggle. But somehow, Harper made a breakthrough. He was aggressive, ballsy, rude and mean tempered. He was a damn good detective, and he became, against the odds, Stabler's friend.

"Last month, Harper and Stabler were involved in an uncover op involving the sex traffic trade down in Chinatown. They were working with the 2-6, and something went wrong. Details aside, Harper took a bullet that was meant for Stabler. I think Stabler would have welcome the chance to escape his own personal hell he's built so nicely for himself the past five years, but Harper saw it coming and jumped in front of him."

Olivia covered her mouth with her hand lightly, the tears streaming down her face. It was raw, the fresh pain she experienced regarding her former partner. She knew instinctively how he must have felt. To have someone give their life for his, and his current state of mind…

"Oh God, John…"

"They put Stabler on paid leave for two weeks while IA and Homicide sorted through everything. And of course, he has mandatory therapy. But everyone knows, Liv. It's only a matter of time. I don't even know if his children are enough to hold him together. But maybe if you came back…"

His voice trailed off seeing the look in her eyes. Munch turned, looking behind him. At the edge of the hallway, the boy was standing holding a teddy bear, a stricken look on his face.

"Mommy?"

"It's okay, sweetheart," she spoke softly, reassuringly as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. She moved around Munch, walking over to Elliot and kneeling down.

"Are you crwhying bahcuz of Mr. Stable?"

"Yes," she said simply, reaching down to pull him up into her arms. Obviously he had been standing there for a moment. Not too long, she hoped. He looked at her, tears welling up in his own large brown eyes.

"Don't crwhy, Mommy," he sniffled, holding her tightly with his small arms. "We can go, right? Like Mr. Munch says so?"

She smoothed his disheveled hair absently, turning back to look at Munch. His gaze shifted from her, to her son, and then back to her again.

"There's a 3:40 flight from Portland to NYC, with a short layover in Minneapolis on Northwest," he spoke softly. "As of two hours ago, there were still seats left."

She bit her lip, looking down at her son, trembling suddenly with the enormity of the situation. She was safe now, safe in her newly created life with her son. To go back would be to face that which she had run from with such finality most five years ago. To see him again, to smell him, to possibly break him further than she had already done.

"_I loved you. God help me, I still do."_

Maybe there was hope. Maybe he could overcome that one decision, the choice she had made that had spun them down to the breaking point.

"Let me pack a small suitcase, and you can book the tickets," Olivia replied, her voice nearly inaudible. Elliot was looking up at her again, his eyes bright.

"We're going to see Mr. Stable?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Olivia answered him, still running her fingers over his dark hair.

"Magic," he whispered, and from across the room, Munch smiled.

They were going home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I looked in the mirror this morning and was insanely shocked to find out I'm not Dick Wolfe. Go figure.

Rating is for angst, smutty smut, more angst, and the occasional (or not so occasional) naughty word that cops actually use and that I am so fond of writing.

**Reviews:** Please. I love you guys!

**A/N:** And now this is the sound of me relenting. I just couldn't follow through with my original plan for this snippet. Some angst remains in this, the final chapter, but not in the caliber I intended.

**Chapter Four**

_"If I should meet thee  
After long years,  
How should I greet thee?  
With silence and tears."  
- Lord Byron_

Their flight landed at JFK at approximately 6:30 the next morning. The layover in Minneapolis lasted longer than expected, bringing them into NYC in the midst of Friday morning rush hour.

The plane ride had been one of the most oddly sobering experiences in Olivia's recent memory. The tickets Munch had purchased on such short notice had them seated in coach on a Northwest 737, little Elliot sitting between the two adults. With the guiltless conscience of most young children, he had spent the majority of the time sleeping, the last half of the flight leaning up against Munch, his tiny fingers curled tight at the lapel of the man's gray suit jacket.

Munch had stiffened at first when the boy had snuggled up against him in his sleep. It had taken several minutes, waiting cautiously to see if Elliot would wake, before Munch relaxed. He then reached out hesitantly, touching the still disheveled mop of dark hair. The gesture, though uncertain, was still so fatherly it tugged at her heart. Munch glanced at her, the look in his eyes questioning and at the same time, expressing a sadness she knew would be overwhelmingly more painful and significant in the blue eyes of her former partner.

It was a regret of all those lost years, tinged at the edges with wonderment at what could have been. Mr. Munch would have been Uncle Munch, maybe even Uncle John. There would have been picnics, maybe strolls through the park, perhaps birthday parties with Munch and Fin, Cragen showing up with a ghastly wrapped present, Casey cooing at a baby Elliot. Munch would have snickered, watching in amusement as Fin tried to change his first diaper, hissing expletives between soothing baby talk.

And then there would be Elliot. Elliot caressing her swollen belly, ripe with their child. Elliot holding his son for the first time, the warmth of love moistening his cool blue eyes. Elliot, watching her breastfeed. Elliot, helping her raise little Elliot, making her days bearable and her nights heaven.

The touch of fingertips on her hand pulled her out of the deep thoughts she had so desperately wished to be actual memories. Olivia watched Munch's hand slide into hers where it rested over her son's small knees. He gave her hand a firm squeeze and she looked up at him again.

"The past cannot be changed, Liv," he spoke softly, a gentle smile creasing his weathered face. "But it does not have to determine what we do with the future."

She had nodded in silent reply, biting her lower lip as she pondered his words. He stared at her a moment longer before turning back to gaze at the dark sky out the small plane window, his hand still holding hers. They remained that way the rest of the flight, the silence pregnant with unspoken questions and recollections.

After landing, they headed over to the baggage claim, weaving through rushing tourists and business travelers in terminal four. Munch seemed content to hold Elliot, who was still groggy from sleep, but slowly becoming aware of their new surroundings.

When the metal slats of the conveyor started moving after a groan of protest from the machine, Munch set Elliot down, seeing the obvious curiosity in his brown eyes and his need to explore. Still holding his tiny hand in his, he walked closer to Olivia; she was watching the various luggage from their flight appear on the metal slats from the plastic flaps covering the small baggage doorway at the front of the conveyor.

"You were so sure I was going to come back you didn't even bring a carryon?" Olivia asked, not looking up from the slow rotation of luggage in front of them.

"No. I really had no idea what to expect. But I had hopes that I could convince you. After all, I've had my share of successes in the interrogation room."

Olivia glanced at him in time to see the small grin. She shook her head, turning back to the machine.

"Dere, Mommy!"

Olivia followed the direction of Elliot's small pointed finger, seeing their two suitcases appear on the belt.

"Good eyes, sweetheart," Olivia praised him, reaching down to ruffle his hair. He smiled broadly in response, all but vibrating with pent-up energy from the long flight.

Olivia pulled the luggage from the belt, pushing her backpack to a more comfortable position as she extended the handles on both of the wheeled suitcases. She made a weak protest as Munch grabbed for one, knowing the whole process would go noticeably faster with his help.

A sea of yellow greeted them as they exited the terminal, and Olivia felt the pang of sadness of years of memories of her city in this one vivid visual. Holding Elliot's hand tightly, she followed Munch over to an empty taxi in a line of drivers waiting for fairs.

Munch paused, turning to stare at Olivia for a moment. She fidgeted a bit under the intense scrutiny, out of practice at holding her own under such a look. He was trying to read her, and it had been years since she played a one-on-one battle of wills with anyone other than a rambunctious four-year-old boy.

Munch smiled, his posture relaxing. He obviously had found the answers he had been looking for, nodding slightly to her before ducking his head into the open passenger side window to talk to the driver.

The yellow trunk popped open and Olivia wheeled the suitcase to the back of the taxi, Elliot almost skipping with his enthusiasm beside her. She slid the handle closed, heaving the bag into the back of the cab, joined by Munch moments later with the second suitcase.

"Come now, kid. I bet you've never been in an honest to God NYC cab before, hey?" Munch teased, his mood jovial as he took the boy's hand again. "You can sit by the window and see all the beauty of the city."

Olivia heard the note of good-humored sarcasm in his voice, but chose to ignore it. Even if they had to drive through the worst area of Queens, she knew Elliot would be excited by the new, strange view.

As promised, Elliot had a window seat as Olivia sat in the middle, Munch on her other side. Elliot chattered endlessly about the images streaming by the glass, the city becoming ever lighter under the rising sun. Of course, NYC was similar to Portland with its glass skyscrapers mingled with inner city businesses, but there was an older flavor here, a distinctive rhythm that thrummed through the streets, a staccato beat that called to the same one that pounded against her ribcage. It reminded her in not only the visual sense, but in the humid air that came through the open windows of the cab, and the taste of nearby Jamaica Bay on the wind, that she was back.

Olivia Benson had come home.

"Mommy, don't crwy."

Elliot was staring up at her, his tiny hands brushing the wetness on her cheeks. She smiled down at him reassuringly, kissing his forehead lightly to ease the look of fear and sadness her son held whenever he saw her cry.

"It's okay, sweetheart. They're happy tears, all right? I'm just happy to be here again," she spoke softly, soothingly.

"Are we going to see Mr. Stable?"

Olivia blinked at the question. Of course, it was the reason they were here; it was why for the second time in her life, she had quickly packed a suitcase and without a word to anyone, she had flown across the country, leaving everything behind.

But this time was different. Now she had a child, and she was returning to the scene of the one memory that weighed on her every move, and the one man that would haunt her the rest of her life.

Olivia glanced out the window in time to see their taxi leave 25 to connect with the Long Island expressway. She turned back to Munch, her lips parted, slightly breathless.

"Yes, we're going to see Mr. Stable," Munch answered for her, smiling at the child. Elliot grinned in response, turning back to the window, starting to sing as he tapped his small fingers against the glass.

Olivia felt the tremble start in her chest, moving into her thighs and arms. Munch nearly startled her when he squeezed her shoulder gently, the gesture comforting.

"Do…do you think he'll be there this early?" Her voice was nearly inaudible, her mouth suddenly dry. The thought of what she was doing, after all of these years, was finally becoming certain. The plane ride had been almost surreal, but the views outside of the cab and the abruptness of Munch's disclosure of their destination stripped her emotions raw.

She was going to see him again after nearly five years. He was going to see their son. She was going to break him all over again…

_"The pain of seeing you again…I can't deal with it. There's nothing left of me to break."_

She had broken him. She had promised, hadn't she, that she wouldn't do it again?

Olivia felt her chest constrict as her breathing hitched, a wide mix of emotions from fear to longing causing her body to shake.

"He'll be there, Liv," Munch replied, his tone low as he leaned closer to her. "Don't be scared."

She laughed, an unsteady, rough sound. "Easy for you to say. Oh, John, I don't know if I'm strong enough…"

"You're the strongest woman I know, Olivia," he cut her off, his tone unchanged. "Remember what I told you. All gospel, Liv."

She nodded silently, biting her lip, looking back at Elliot. Olivia tried to keep her focus on her son the rest of the drive, not wanting to think of the encounter that awaited her.

Too soon for her, the cab pulled up in front of the 16th Precinct. Olivia was frozen for a moment, staring at the gnarled stone façade of the place she had lived and breathed for nearly a decade. Seemingly unchanged, she wondered faintly if she would find its occupants the same way.

"Liv?"

She took Munch's hand, scooting the rest of the way across the tattered fabric of the back seat of the taxi, closing the yellow door behind her. She stood next to Munch, self-consciously brushing the front of her patterned sundress, wondering for the first time how she must look. She had been awake for nearly 24 hours now, was wearing minimal make-up, and her clothes were wrinkled from the flight.

Munch caught the look and squeezed her arm again. "You're beautiful. As always." He paused in the act of reaching for his wallet to pay the driver. "Why don't you go up? The kid and I will follow, okay?"

She glanced at her son, who was leaning against the side of the yellow taxi, squirming slightly, his eyes shifting over everything, taking in the busy Manhattan street.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She looked up at the building again, moistening her lower lip unconsciously. "Okay. Don't take too long," she added, once again betraying her fear and apprehension to him.

He nodded silently, and she steeled herself against emotion, drawing on the strong Detective Benson persona she had long ago thought lost when she had left her life with such finality nearly five years ago.

She walked up the steps with as much confidence as she could, pushing through the front doors with a feeling of dread mixed with the relief of finally coming back to the one place she had felt most at home.

As it was still early, the precinct was rather quiet. Thankfully she didn't recognize any of the uniformed officers she passed on her way to the SVU; she didn't relish the thought of having to explain herself to anyone at this moment. Meeting Elliot after all of these years was going to take more than enough of her will power and energy.

She stood in the entryway of the squad room, trying to relieve the fine tremor of her body, to ease the quickened pace of her breathing. She couldn't remember ever feeling this terrified before, save the times she had been faced with the working end of a gun. Even then, she was certain this trumped it.

Olivia bit her lip on a sigh, dragging in one shuddery breath before walking into the SVU.

There were only two occupants in the dimly lit room at this time of the morning. Fin was sitting at his desk, his work illuminated by a green-capped lamp. The other man was turned from her, standing at the table they had always used for coffee and donuts, pouring himself a cup of the dark brew.

From his short-cropped hair, to his muscular back highlighted by the soft texture of the pale blue dress shirt he was wearing, she could tell the other man in the room was her former partner. There was suddenly a rather restrictive lump in her throat, and anything she thought to say at the moment instantly left her.

Fin gasped, a sound she had never heard before from the rough, assertive man. His eyes were large, staring at her in faint shock, his lips parted in surprised. His mouth closed, then opened again, but no words came.

Olivia gave him a small smile. She had wondered previously if Munch had told his partner that had taken a vacation day to meet up with her, after discovering her location several weeks prior. Obviously, Munch would later have hell to pay for leaving Fin in the dark like this.

Elliot turned, sighing, walking across the worn flooring of the squad while rubbing his bleary eyes with his free hand. His vision was blurred at first by the action, but then everything came into focus.

She was there, standing in the middle of the SVU. Her once short hair now fell in supple waves around her shoulders, shining in the soft light from Fin's desk lamp. Her face was relatively unchanged, save the look of fear in her glistening brown eyes. She was wearing a dress, a sleeveless shift in some sort of flowery pattern, the material cinched at her waist, but relatively free-flowing. It was rather feminine, but seemed out of place on a woman who he knew personally could face down the toughest, most vile of perpetrators with ease.

His hands suddenly shaking uncontrollably, the mug slipped from his fingers, the ceramic shattering when it hit the worn flooring, coffee streaming into grooves and pooling on the linoleum.

Olivia swallowed, swearing she could hear the sound of the tiny action in the unexpectedly breathless silence of the room. She stared at Elliot, taking in his appearance.

He was still muscularly lean, well-dressed in his everyday uniform of slacks, dress-shirt and tie. He had a few more lines to his face, each a testament to the horrors of the job. His skin had gone several shades paler, his blue eyes wide, his thin lips parted. Her gaze had traveled to his hands when he had dropped the coffee mug, and she was shocked to see they were visibly trembling.

"You're not here." His voice was rough, thick with emotion as he continued to stare at her as if she was a ghost. "You left."

Olivia moistened her lower lip, watching as his gaze flicked to her mouth. She hesitantly moved forward, walking over to Elliot until she was standing in front of him, careful of the shards of white ceramic at their feet. This close, she could see the raw shock on his face and hear the raggedness of his breathing.

"I'm here," she whispered. Her hands were clenched at her sides; she wanted desperately to reach out to him, to hold onto him and never let go. But she was frightened that if she touched him, it would all disappear. She would wake up alone, drenched in sweat, in her bed back in her tiny house in Portland. "I'm right here, El."

Her nickname for him caused a harsh sound at the back of his throat, similar to that of a strangled sob. His mouth closed, his lips pulling tight, and she could see the tremble in his lower lip. One hand reached out for her, uncertain.

"Liv? My God, Olivia?" His voice broke, and he touched her face, his thumb brushing against her mouth as his rough hand shakily traced across the warm skin of her cheek. Tears glistened in his ice blue eyes, threatening to spill over as he caressed her face reverently. "God, oh, God, it's you."

Elliot pulled her roughly into his arms, one hand at her back, the other at her waist as he held her tight, his hot face pressed against throat. She was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face as her shaking hands drew patterns on his back.

"I'm so sorry, El," Olivia whispered, her voice wavering. "I thought you never wanted to see me again…"

He grunted against her neck, his arms tightening as he rocked the both of them in a shaky rhythm. "My God, that couldn't be further from the truth." A sudden sob rumbled through his chest. "I need you. I need you more than anything. Please don't leave. Never leave again…"

"I didn't want to leave," Olivia whispered, her voice punctured by soft sobs. "But I didn't want to hurt you anymore. I didn't want to break…"

She felt him stiffen in her arms, his body suddenly ridged under her hands. She pulled back a little to look at his face; his eyes were wider, his face even paler than before.

Olivia turned slightly, seeing what Elliot had viewed through the veil of her hair.

Munch stood in the doorway of the squad room, the luggage behind him, little Elliot in his arms.

Elliot stared at his colleague, his blue gaze shifting from the weathered face of Munch to the young boy resting on his hip. There was something strikingly recognizable about the child, from his large, luminous brown eyes, to the shape of his nose; the boy was staring, a ghost of a smirk pulling at his tiny, full-lipped mouth, a gesture Elliot had seen before, something frighteningly familiar…

"Oh my God," Elliot gasped, everything clicking into place. His gazed jerked from the doorway to Olivia, who had shifted out of his embrace, standing still in front of him.

Olivia watched as the realization crossed her former partner's features. He knew. In that moment he knew that the child Munch held was his, and that one night nearly five years ago in this same squad room, Elliot had impregnated Olivia with a son. _And then he told her he never wanted to see her again…_

"Elliot." Her voice was soft, her breathing irregular. She grasped his arms, frightened by the glassiness of his blue eyes. He was shaking uncontrollably now, his face white. It was only moments away that his knees would give out, and he would collapse in front of them all.

"My God, Liv. _Our son_," he choked out, his tone a mix between horror and awe. He reached a trembling hand behind him to the closest desk, trying to stay steady on his feet.

Olivia kept her grip tight on his arm, reaching out with her free hand to grab a nearby chair, scraping the worn flooring in the process.

Elliot led her guide him into the wooden, straight back chair. Olivia, careful of the ceramic shards at their feet, knelt down in front of him, her hands on his knees as she lowered herself to eyelevel.

In a gesture parallel to his, she reached out to caress his cheek, rubbing her palm against the roughness of the stubble at his jaw, the pad of her thumb brushing against his lower lip. Even after all this time, even after his painful words had echoed in her thoughts over the long years, she loved him. Through out it all, this man had her heart. Everything else paled in comparison.

"Why?" Elliot whispered, the raw pain causing his voice to come out ragged. "Why did you run? I would have done anything, Liv, _anything_…"

"I thought it was what you wanted. That night, you said you never wanted to see me again, that I had broken you," Olivia replied softly. Her hands at his knees tightened as she stared at him, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears.

Elliot shook his head, his lips pulling out in a line before he spoke again. "I wanted you. And you left the squad and I fell apart. I needed you so much and you left."

She licked her lower lip, her right hand leaving one knee to trace his jaw again. "I'm sorry. El, I wish I could take it back. I thought," she paused, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "I thought it was best for us, for the job. I didn't want our partnership to cause problems, I didn't want the victims to suffer because of what we felt…"

"So you thought it better to throw it all away?" He finished for her, his tone gentle, betrayed only by the quavering in his chest.

She closed her eyes, sighing. She turned to glance back at her son and Munch in the doorway, granting them a small smile before looking back at Elliot.

"_I loved you. God help me, I still do." _His words, always his words would come back to her.

"I loved you, El. I still do," she whispered. Other than the minute flicker of an unreadable emotion in his eyes, he didn't react to her revelation. She let go of her pride and embraced her courage, facing down her greatest fear.

"I love you, Elliot Stabler. That night convinced me I would do anything for you. And if you never wanted to see me again, well then, so be it."

He was staring at her, the intensity of his icy blue gaze nearly scalding her. She ignored the erratic beat of her heart against her ribs and continued.

"I left for you. _Broken for you_. But there hasn't been a day, or a single night, that has gone by that I haven't thought of you and what we could have had." The tears were now spilling down the warm skin of her cheeks, and she let go of the basic impulse to rein in such a vulnerable emotion. In this moment, she wanted him to see. Olivia wanted him to understand how she felt, what she had given up for him.

A loud thud at the doorway caused both of them to turn. Young Elliot had pushed out of Munch's arms, landing on his feet, pausing for only a moment before he was racing across the squad room into the embrace of his mother.

Olivia pulled her son instinctively under her arm, close to her side. He was wide eyed, flushed with a silly smile on his small face as he stared up at his father.

Elliot reached down with uncertainty, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of the small child's face. The boy looked up at him, his large, luminous brown eyes, so familiar as those of his mother, staring at him expectedly.

"You're Mommy's partner," he whispered with an awed reverence of discovering something hinted at, and now exposed in wondrous reality.

Elliot's gaze jerked from the boy to Olivia as he swallowed the sudden visceral emotion at the child's exclamation. "For life," he whispered.

Olivia's lower lip trembled, and she looked away, holding her son tighter as the tears continued to flow.

Elliot slid out of the chair slowly, kneeling among the ceramic shards and spilt coffee next to Olivia and their child.

"Mommy loves you vary much," the boy smiled, still holding tightly to his mother's side. One of his tiny hands reached out to touch Elliot, and the older man let the child trace his nose, and the planes of his face, trembling at the significance of the moment.

"And I love her."

Olivia turned back to him. Her eyes were shining in the dim light, her cheeks flushed and her mouth red from the continued assault of her teeth. She looked as if she had come straight from battle with one of their toughest assailants. In that moment, she had never appeared so beautiful to him.

"El?"

"I love you, Liv. God, wasn't it obvious, sweetheart?" He murmured, reaching out to hold her face between his large hands. She looked up at him, blinking, and he smiled in response.

"For years. _Years._ I can't even remember when I first started to feel it. And then you left and my entire world fell apart. I tried to forget you. I tried to forget how I felt, and then you showed up that night.

"I was terrified. I thought I would lose myself and expose my true feelings to you. So I tried to push you away. But you wouldn't leave. And I couldn't help myself. If I couldn't have you, I wanted something to remember you by. Just one night. One night to live on the rest of my life."

Olivia sobbed, overwhelmed at his words. Tears shone, deepening the blue of his eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

"And you left again. In a way, I've been waiting for death ever since. It's only the thought of you that kept me going, the miracle that maybe, just maybe one day you'd come back…"

"El, I love you!"

Both still kneeling on the floor, Elliot pulled her against him, wrapping his arms tightly around her slender form. Their son was next to them, still half under his mother's embrace, but his free hand against his father's back.

Elliot was kissing Olivia's face, brushing his mouth against the tear-moistened flesh with devotion.

"I love you, Liv. Don't ever leave again, sweetheart. Please stay. Stay with me and let's be a family."

They made a perfect picture in the middle of the SVU squad room. Munch sighed from his position next to his partner, content to watch in peace the beautiful moment between two of his best friends.

"You owe me, Munch."

Munch turned to Fin, seeing the scowl tug harshly at his mouth.

"So I'll make it up to you. Pool, next time, I'll let you win."

Fin snorted. "Fuck. Liv's back. Neither of us is going to win again."

Munch leaned back on the edge of his desk, a slow smile spreading across his weathered face. He didn't mind that in the least.


End file.
